


Silent Night

by Dangerousnotbroken



Series: On A Slow Night 'verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Play, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bottom Dean, Dom!Castiel, Dom/sub Play, M/M, Panty Kink, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Spanking, Sub!Dean, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:46:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2771861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangerousnotbroken/pseuds/Dangerousnotbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You make a very nice Christmas present, Dean,” Cas intones as he loosens his tie enough to slip the loop of it off over his head.  “So beautifully wrapped.  It almost seems a shame to unwrap you.”  Dean’s not sure what to say in response to that, so he says nothing.  “Are you up for a challenge, Dean?”  The way Castiel’s mouth caresses his name is sinful, making it sound profane and sultry in ways that no one else’s mouth ever has.  He’s so wrapped up in it that he nearly forgets he’s been asked a question.  He quirks a questioning eyebrow at Cas.<br/>“What’s the challenge?” He asks, trying to keep his voice smug and aloof.  What he really wants to say is <i>whatever you fucking want, just tell me what to do.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Petrichor_Amber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petrichor_Amber/gifts).



> This work is both a continuation of this series and also a Christmas present for the lovely Petrichor_Amber, who has been forewarned _not to read this fic while she's celebrating Christmas at her inlaws_ but will almost certainly do so anyway because she and I share a remarkable lack of good judgement. She is one of my most favouritest people in the whole entire world and as such, I felt that she deserved an incredibly smutty, totally inappropriate, filthy and kinky work of fiction in celebration of the season. As with all things I write lately, it got a little out of hand. I do not apologise at all.

Dean doesn’t get what the big deal about Christmas is. He supposes it’s something to do with his complete lack of family Christmases growing up, but the entire thing seems stupid. His mom had probably made a big show of the holiday back when he was a kid in Lawrence but he was four when she died, way too young to remember it in much detail, and everything had been so much different after. John hadn’t ever taken the time to make Christmas special for him and Sammy. Hadn’t taken the time to make much of anything special for them. December 25th is just another day as far as he is concerned. Sam had other ideas. For some strange reason he was attached to the idea of creating this greeting card perfect holiday for himself. He wanted the tree and the stockings and the eggnog and the cheer, served up in a real house with a real family who didn’t put the “fun” in “dysfunctional.” The last detail would always be elusive, they both knew that. So while Sam was hanging out at Bobby’s, probably decorating the saddest fucking Charlie-Brown Christmas tree they could find, Dean decided to be elsewhere.

  
That’s how, at 8 pm on December 24th, Dean finds himself seated in a mostly empty diner somewhere in North Dakota drinking bitter coffee and waiting for the waitress to bring him a slice of pie. It was pumpkin, because that was the special. Either that or mincemeat, and if there was a pie that Dean Winchester wasn’t interested in eating, it would be mincemeat. The waitress on this particular evening is a grizzled veteran of the diner scene, sporting salt and pepper hair and a face that looked like she’d seen it all and wasn’t particularly thrilled at any of it. Dean’s typical winning grin was met with a thin lipped smile and a raised eyebrow, so he’d just ordered his pie and turned back to staring out the window. Spending Christmas alone didn’t bother him, especially not this year.

 

Dean eats his pie in silence, tips back the last of his truly terrible coffee, and flags down the waitress to ask for the check. She drops it on the table with one of those little candy canes and some off-hand comment about how no one should be alone at Christmas. He ignores it, slapping some cash down on the table and pocketing the candy cane. The Impala rumbles to life when he turns the key and he backs out on to the deserted street with only the sound of the engine to break the silence. No one is out driving right now that doesn’t have to be. There’s a fresh dusting of snow on the ground, one that hadn’t been there when he parked an hour or so earlier, so he takes it nice and slow making his way back to the motel he’d checked in to. No need to hurry things and end up flipped in a ditch.

 

He wonders if Cas will wait until he gets to the motel room to show up, or if he was already there. The angel was unpredictable, that was a fact. He was even more so lately. Cas did have a flair for the dramatic, and he had taken to expressing it in increasingly interesting ways. He’d been the one to initiate their first kiss, as Dean recalls. He’d been driving down a road not unlike this one when Cas had flapped his way in to the empty passenger seat. He did that sometimes, just showed up for no apparent reason. Cas made futile attempts at polite conversation, and Dean responded, and usually they just rode in silence until they reached their destination or Cas decided he had somewhere else to fly off to. But this time he’d broken the silence that had settled in to the car. Instead of asking about hunting, or why Sam wasn’t with him, or any of another hundred things Dean could honestly say he’d expected, he’d gone and said a thing that Dean had only hoped he’d say one day, one he’d never actually expected to hear.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Cas had said in that thick, even tone of his. The same tone he used when he said he found a liquor store and drank it, or when he’d called Michael an assbutt. Dean was certain he’d imagined it at first, but no. It had been real. It had been the first time Cas had kissed him, but it had certainly proved not to be the last.

 

Dean is happy with their arrangement but he gets the feeling the angel wants more. They don’t discuss it, really. Hadn’t exactly spoken about it with Sam either, although after last month’s weekend off he could no longer tell himself that Sam was in the dark about things. But that doesn’t mean he hadn’t been excited when Cas showed up in his motel the night before.

 

_“I brought you a Christmas present.” Castiel stated flatly, proffering a red and green gift bag overflowing with a cascade of sparkly tissue paper. There may or may not have been glitter. Dean has already blocked that part out. “The associate at the store prepared the packaging for me. This is tradition, correct? You wrap gifts in paper to disguise the contents? I have heard that the surprise of unveiling it is part of the appeal.” Dean stared at the parcel warily. Cas tended to miss the mark when he tried to participate in human traditions. He couldn’t imagine what might be in the bag._

_“Thanks, Cas. That’s really nice. But I didn’t get you anything.”_

_“Technically, I think this counts as a gift for both of us. Aren’t you going to open it, Dean?” Castiel tilted his head to one side in that quizzical manner._

_“Traditionally, you open Christmas presents on Christmas. That’s two days away.”_

_“I would rather you open it now.” There was a rustle of paper as Dean sat down on the bed and opened the package. As the folds of tissue were pulled back, he found himself holding a pair of bright red satin panties. There was a big ribbon at the top, tied into a bow on one side. Dean swallowed audibly. He’d worn underwear like this only once before, and yes, he liked it, but he couldn’t recall ever telling anyone about that. He definitely hadn’t had any conversations with Cas about it._

_“Do you like them?” Dean felt his face flush. “I had my suspicions. I would like you to wear these tomorrow. Do whatever you’d already planned to do, but wear my gift. I’ll come to you in the evening.”_

Castiel had disappeared without another word after that. And now Dean finds himself driving towards a small town in North Dakota on Christmas Eve with a pair of red satin panties hidden under his jeans, trying very hard not to think about the smooth texture of the fabric on his ass as he shifts in the seat. It isn’t easy. Every time he moves his foot on the accelerator his leg shifts slightly, and he can feel the slide of the satin across his dick. He hopes Cas doesn’t take his sweet time showing up. This Christmas present is already proving to be torture.

 

The motel parking lot is quiet as he eases the Impala into a spot near the door to his room. There aren’t too many people who’d be hanging out at a place like this on Christmas Eve, he supposes. It’s fine by him though, fewer cars in the lot means it’s less likely someone’s going to clip his fender or ding his door. He walks to his room more slowly than he usually would; the tantalizing slide of silky fabric under his clothes makes it difficult to focus if his strides get too long. He breathes a sigh of relief as soon as the door latches behind him.

 

“Are you wearing them?” He hears, and turns to face the source of the voice. Cas steps out of the shadows with casual movements that are second nature to the angel. Dean gulps a breath and finds himself too startled to form words, so he nods vigorously. A slow smile finds its way on to Castiel’s face, one that is tinged mischief. He’s not used to seeing that on his angel. It’s thrilling. “Well,” Cas presses. “Aren’t you going to show me?”

 

Dean freezes. He knew this was coming; at least he would have, if he’d bothered to think at all. If he’d been capable of thinking. But the entire day had been a blur of _don’t move too fast_ and _can anyone tell I’m wearing panties?_ And _holy shit what the hell is Cas thinking?_ So he never really bothered to ponder what exactly the angel had planned. He just knew it was going to be interesting. Somehow, he finds the presence of mind to bring his hands to his belt and start undressing.

 

“Slowly,” Cas says, and it’s not a suggestion, it’s a command. Dean stills his hands, dropping his now unbuckled belt and moving instead to his shirt. He makes eye contact with Cas and opens the buttons one by one, prising them free with almost surgical precision. When the last button has released its hold, he drags the garment off his shoulders with so much more care than he really feels, but Cas said slowly so he’s doing it slowly. He lets the shirt fall to the floor from an outstretched hand, still holding Cas’ gaze as his hands retreat to the hem of his tee-shirt. Dean drags it up to expose his stomach, his ribs, his chest, then little by little pulls it over his head and it joins his overshirt on the floor. Cas’ face is implacable calm, betraying no evidence of the sight unveiling itself before him with agonizing lack of speed.

 

The air in the room is cool and it pebbles the skin on Dean’s bare chest as he sinks down to tug at the laces on his boots. They’re discarded by the door in a much more haphazard manner than he’d usually succumb to, but he’s got things on his mind other than boots and quick getaways, so it doesn’t occur to him to care right now. Dean’s socks follow as he stands up, and he catches Cas’ eye again before his thumb flicks open the button on his jeans. The second Dean drags the zipper down and the smallest hint of that shiny red peeks out, Cas finally reacts. It’s just a tiny hitch in his breath, just an almost imperceptible change in the rate at which he draws in air, but it’s there. Dean lets a smirk creep on to his face.

 

Dean pushes the waistband down over his hips with a little more haste than he’s removed the rest of his clothes, but now he’s excited to see Cas’ reaction. He was apprehensive before, worried about what Cas would think about how excited he got to be walking around in these shiny, dainty things. Its totally not a thing he’d admit to wanting, not where anyone else could hear, and he’d been more than a little uncomfortable about it until _right fucking now_. But hearing Cas’ breath catch in his throat, knowing that the thought of Dean wearing nothing more than this tiny scrap of sumptuous fabric can break the steely resolve of this _wavelength of celestial intent_ , well that’s just all the motivation he needs.

 

And Castiel does respond, Dean notices, when his jeans hit the floor and he casually steps out of them. Even in the dim light of the room with the shadows cast by a single lightbulb flickering across his face, Dean can see his jaw tighten and his throat constrict as he swallows and yes, Cas likes what he sees. Dean steals a glance downwards at himself. The panties have just the slightest ruffle at the edges and although he guesses they’re technically the right size, his dick is only just half hard and it’s already challenging the garment’s ability to hold him. The ribbon is tied in a floppy red bow over his right hip, slightly crushed after the better part of a day crammed in his jeans, but still tied securely. Castiel lets a small laugh loose from deep in his throat and for just a split second Dean thinks he’s laughing at him, but it’s a dark laugh, the mirth tinged with a raw edge of lust.

 

“Oh Dean,” he rumbles. Cas’ eyes sweep hungrily over Dean’s mostly exposed body but he doesn’t move. “This is a good look for you. Do you like them?” Dean nods, but he feels like that’s not enough of an answer.

“Yes,” he chokes out, his throat suddenly dry. Cas’s mouth quirks into a wolfish smile.

“Go over and sit on the bed, Dean.” Cas gestures with one hand toward the neatly made bed across the room from Dean. Housekeeping has been in since he left, he’s just noticed. Dean’s steps are just as slow as they were coming in to the motel room but the slide of the fabric is so much less of a problem now that his jeans are out of the equation. Castiel steps out of the dark corner of the room as Dean sits down. He drapes his trench coat, the one he’s always wearing, the one Dean would recognize anywhere over the back of the chair that’s tucked in to the small desk as he walks past, lays his suitcoat over top of it. He toes his shoes off with perfunctory haste, and it’s such an odd gesture for the angel. Everything he does is always so precise, so intentional and the casual, almost absentminded way he removes his shoes is at odds with his entire M.O.

 

Cas removes his socks with the same awkwardness. Then he rolls each of his shirtsleeves up, folding them once, twice, three times before pushing the bundles above his elbows. Dean watches the tightly corded muscles of his forearms flex with the action and he wonders once again what Cas has planned, especially now that he doesn’t seem intent on undressing any further than this right now.

“You make a very nice Christmas present, Dean,” Cas intones as he loosens his tie enough to slip the loop of it off over his head. “So beautifully wrapped. It almost seems a shame to unwrap you.” Dean’s not sure what to say in response to that, so he says nothing. “Are you up for a challenge, Dean?” The way Castiel’s mouth caresses his name is sinful, making it sound profane and sultry in ways that no one else’s mouth ever has. He’s so wrapped up in it that he nearly forgets he’s been asked a question. He quirks a questioning eyebrow at Cas.

“What’s the challenge?” He asks, trying to keep his voice smug and aloof. What he really wants to say is _whatever you fucking want, just tell me what to do._

“You’re got quite a mouth on you. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve got a sarcastic reply for everything, and when I get my hands on you, you are never, ever quiet. Not by a long shot. I’d like you to be quiet for me, Dean. Do you think you can do that?” Dean’s confused. That doesn’t seem like much of a challenge. He’s had quiet sex plenty of times, though none of them recently. Usually when he's gone home with someone who’s got a roommate or something. What’s the big deal? “You must stay silent, absolutely silent. You make a single sound, and I’ll stop. Understand? If you can’t hold your tongue, or if you want me to stop…” Cas trails off, staring pointedly in to Dean’s eyes to drive his point home. They’re getting in to new territory here, and if Dean’s not ok with it Cas will stop. He’s safe here. He nods.

“Words, Dean. Answer me this one question. Do you want this?”

“Yes, Cas. Yes,” Dean is surprised to find that his voice comes out strong and confident, because he’s practically shaking with anticipation. Cas nods, acknowledging Dean’s reply.

“No more talking then. Your silence starts now.” Cas stands in front of Dean at the foot of the bed and pushes one shoulder gently. Dean gets the hint and scoots himself backwards until he’s centered on the mattress and reclines to lie down as Cas crawls up to join him. Dean really wishes Cas had undressed further, or better yet all the way. He’s feeling exposed, but mostly he just loves to run his hands over all the skin that’s hidden under that suit. It doesn’t occur to him that it’s exactly why Cas kept his clothes on until he feels the fabric of Cas’ pants brush against his thighs. Cas kneels over his hips and traces the lines of his chest with an idle finger. It’s pleasantly teasing, the way Cas uses just a hint of pressure, the way just his fingertip moves over skin he’s touched time and time again. It’s like Cas is learning him for the first time, taking care to catalog each cell of his body so he can call up the sensations in his memory any time he wants. Dean feels like he’s being recorded in Cas’ mind by each tiny touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” Cas breathes, and he leans down to capture one of Dean’s nipples with his teeth. He uses just enough pressure to register on the side of pain, and Dean squirms in response, careful not to make a sound in reply. Cas’ tongue flicks out to soothe the nipple as his teeth release, and then the teeth are back again, harder, and Dean can’t help but huff out a startled moan.

“Shhhhh,” Cas admonishes, reaching up to silence Dean with a finger to his lips. “This is your one warning. If you can’t keep quiet for this, I don’t know how you expect to make it through everything else I have planned.” Dean nods, hoping Cas will take it as agreement, desperate acknowledgement that he can be good, that he can do this. Cas withdraws the warning finger and his hands smooth over Dean’s chest. The affection of it is so calming. It’s a stark contrast when Cas’ fingers find both of his nipples, twisting enough that Dean twitches in response, and he has to bite down on his lip to keep from breaking his promised silence.

“Good,” Cas praises, his hands sliding up to caress the sides of Dean’s neck, his jaw. One hand tangles in Dean’s hair, too short to grab much of a handful but enough to jerk his head back slightly, and Cas’ lips and tongue claim the fragile skin of his throat that the gesture exposes. “So good,” Cas’ breath is hot on his neck as he speaks, whispering soothingly. Dean is rock hard already. Cas has barely done anything and he’s already aching for it. Fuck. It gets worse when Cas’ tongue drags wetly up his jaw, and Dean is thankful for the kiss Cas presses to his lips because it’s so much easier not to moan in appreciation when his mouth is otherwise occupied. It’s a slow and gentle kiss, not hungry or desperate or rough, but its touch and its taste and he loves it.

Cas rises back up to perch over Dean, dragging his lips away with an almost regretful gleam in his eyes, and stares at Dean for a long moment. He cocks his head to the side like he’s thinking, like he’s trying to decide how to best break Dean down. It’s torture. Cas is still fully clothed and all Dean wants to do is rip his damn pants off and take whatever Cas wants to give him, but he’s fairly certain that implicit in his promise to stay quiet is a caveat that he’s not in control here. Cas is. So he doesn’t reach for Cas’ pants even though he desperately wants to free the hard erection he can see straining against the fabric, and he doesn’t pull at the buttons on Cas’ shirt even though he knows how perfect the muscles will look in the lamplight. He waits, because whatever Cas wants to do is going to be amazing and he doesn’t for a second want to do anything that will jeopardize his chance to find out what it is.

He doesn’t have to wait long, it turns out. Dean’s momentarily confused as Cas climbs off his hips, and more so when he walks back to his clothes at the other side of the room. He wonders if he was maybe supposed to reach for Cas in that moment of hesitation, and now it’s over because he didn’t respond correctly. But then Cas returns to the bed with a little bottle of lube in hand. He tosses it casually on the bed but he doesn’t climb back on right away. Instead, he crosses his arms, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the effort, and a small smile creeps across his lips.

“Hands and knees.” Cas directs him with a tone that brooks no nonsense. He’s staring at Dean with an intensity that’s reminiscent of battlefield Cas, the same kind of aggression and strength his face bears when he’s seconds away from smiting a room full of demons or defying the will of heaven. Dean feels his face heat and his breathing become shallow; the scrutiny gets under his skin in a way he can’t shake off. He obeys though. He wants to do whatever Cas asks of him, wants whatever Cas is going to give him.

Dean feels the mattress shift under Cas’ weight as he climbs on to the bed. He’s behind Dean, fully out of his peripheral vision, but there’s a steadying hand on his hip and it’s reassuring. He knows exactly where Cas is even if he has no idea what Cas has planned.

“Do you remember your safe word?” Cas asks, his deep voice rumbling out the words casually, as if he’s asking if Dean’s read any good books lately, if he likes the weather. Dean nods. The motion is stiff and jerky. “Say it for me,” Cas commands. Dean pauses for a moment. He was told not to speak. He was told not to make a sound. What if this is a test?  “I need to be certain before we continue.”

“Kansas,” Dean breathes. The word hangs in the air for a moment. Cas’ hand is steady on his hip. Dean doesn’t dare move. Finally, Cas replies, his voice calm and clear and steady.

“Correct,” is all he says. Dean’s breath is slow and even because he forces it to be. His body tenses unbidden, a nervous reaction to the unknown. He wishes he had any idea at all what Cas has planned for him. He keeps his eyes forward, his shoulders set, and anticipates the angel’s next move. His mind races in the silence and it feels like long, drawn out minutes before anything happens, though he knows that can’t be entirely true. Finally, his patience is rewarded as Cas’ free hand lands on his ass with a sharp crack, leaving a sparking tingle on his skin as it goes. He’s too startled to cry out, for which he’s eternally grateful. The pain of the smack fades quickly, but it leaves an unfamiliar kind of pleasure in its wake.

“So good for me,” Cas murmurs. His voice carries warmth and pride. “I wonder how many you can take before you can’t keep quiet anymore.” Dean knows he doesn’t expect an answer. He’s just musing. “Shall we try for ten?” Cas’ hand rubs soothingly over the place he just spanked, his motions gentle and calming. His fingers push at the edge of the red satin that covers only a scant third of Dean’s ass, teasing at the idea of sliding his fingers underneath before he pulls them away, resting static on Dean’s hips while he waits. Dean replies in the only method available to him, with a subtle nod of the head. He counts the seconds silently in his mind, reaching a count of fifteen before Cas’ hand falls heavily on his other cheek, the sound of skin on skin ringing out in the otherwise quiet room. Cas makes a pleased sound somewhere between a laugh and a hum. He drags both of his hands across the skin of Dean’s ass. His thumbs press deep into the tissue and heighten the warm sensation left behind by the smacks. Dean cannot deny that he is enjoying this, and not just because he’s not allowed the words it would take to actually deny it. The attention is pleasant, sure, but he’s thrown off guard and has no control of the situation and it’s honestly a little thrilling.

Dean tenses in anticipation of the next hit. He thinks he feels Cas shifting behind him, and in his mind’s eye he sees the right hand raise above his head, tightly corded muscles shifting beneath his skin as he reaches the crest of his arc and brings it back down, but at the point where he should connect, Dean feels nothing. His muscles are tight with the effort of remaining still.

“Don’t anticipate me,” Cas admonishes. “Your job is to stay quiet and take what I give you. I decide when it happens.” The next hit punctuates his sentence, sharp and quick and not quite as hard as the last two, but the surprise of it makes it feel so, so much better. Dean feels his dick strain against the red fabric as his hips jerk forward under the strike, and again as Cas’ hand lands a fourth time almost immediately after. “Good,” Cas croons, and Dean only knows he’s moved because the word is accompanied by Cas’ breath, hot against his skin, already warm with the memory of Cas’ palm raining down blows. His lips are gentle when they press onto the sore flesh, leaving soft kisses across both cheeks. Dean would sigh with pleasure if it wasn’t forbidden.

“So good for me, Dean,” Cas says again. His voice is tight and raw with lust. Dean had no idea how much his angel was enjoying this, but its obvious now. He wishes he could turn back and look, see the flush that must be spreading across Cas’ face and down across his chest. He wants to see the way Cas’ eyes go wide and dark with the lust that’s driving him forward, wants to see the way his mouth hangs open in awe as he stares at Dean, ass presented in the air. Dean wiggles his ass just a little and imagines the way Cas’ eyes must follow the movement. He’s rewarded with three strikes in quick succession, all on one cheek, and he barely stifles the cry that tries to form in his throat, catching his lip between his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut.

Cas’ fingernails rake over the abused flesh. It’s not enough that it would hurt any other time, but now, when he’s already aware of the handprints that must be visible on his ass it sends shivers up Dean’s spine and spikes his own desire up to a fever pitch. Three more. He gets three more strikes and then…

Dean’s thoughts are interrupted by Cas’ next stroke, so he doesn’t have time to contemplate what will come next. It’s firm and sharp. His legs practically quiver with the effort of keeping himself upright and Cas’ palms feel cool on his skin. He knows they’re not, but in comparison to the heat that’s rising up from the impressions they’ve left behind they’re ice. Dean welcomes the contrast. The hands smooth down over his ass, trailing just the tips of Cas’ fingers over Dean’s thighs and calves before moving back up. He leaves one hand on Dean’s hip as the other runs gently up his back. Dean loves the gentle touch; really he loves any way that Cas touches him but the way his palm glides over Dean’s skin is almost reverent and it makes him feel loved in a way he didn’t know he was capable of. No, that’s not right. In a way he didn’t feel he was worthy of.

Dean drops his head low between his shoulders and draws measured breaths while he waits. He suspects Cas will drag the last two out. The anticipation is the most charged part of this entire experience and Dean would be remiss if he didn’t expect Cas to pick up on that dynamic. He tries not to anticipate though. He’s been told not to, and he wants to obey. So he breathes slowly, counting to five in his head for each inhale and ten for each exhale, and he finds a Zen-like calm in the simple repetition of it. He doesn’t know how long it lasts, this peaceful breathing, but he becomes so very aware of everything that’s happening with his body. His backside is fire; hot and sharp and definitely at the forefront of his mind, more prevalent even than the ache of lust and desire that his dick adds to the mix. His legs are tight and he puts effort into relaxing the muscles. Dean doesn’t want Cas to think he’s anticipating again.

Cas’ penultimate strike is the hardest yet. Dean’s sure it is. It must be. The pleasure/pain hybrid that courses through his nervous system and sparks across his skin is electricity made manifest and he’s almost entirely certain he’s going to break the rules and cry out. He doesn’t though. He breathes in five and out ten, in five and out ten, suppressing the groan that his throat is barely holding on to, and he gets through to the other side.

“You are amazing,” Cas coos. His hands work gently over Dean’s flanks as he speaks, and his voice drags Dean’s focus away from his breathing. He can handle one more. Cas thinks he can, so Dean thinks he can too. Cas always has more faith in him than he has in himself, but Castiel is also rarely wrong about it. Dean can take it.

“I wish you could see yourself like this, Dean.” Cas’ voice is a sultry rumble, floating in disembodied from somewhere Dean can’t see. There’s no steadying hand on his hip, no rub of fingers on his flanks, nothing to anchor Dean and let him know where Cas is at this moment. “I don’t even have the words.” Dean gives no response. He can feel Cas’ eyes boring in to him from back there though, raking over the exposed flesh of his body with hunger and desire. He shudders involuntarily as Cas grips his cheeks and spreads them apart, his fingers digging into skin that’s alive with pain, squeezing roughly. There’s a weird silent moment where all Dean has to focus on is Cas’ hands on his ass and the sound of Cas’ breathing, soft and even, and then the hands are gone. It takes a great deal of effort to steady himself at the loss of touch to keep his body supple and relaxed. Cas won’t deliver the last blow when he expects it, so he does the best he can not to expect it at all. He can be good. He can do this.

Dean’s entire body tenses as the palm of Cas’ right hand connects with his flesh one last time and the breath that follows is shuddering and broken but it still passes muster as quiet because Cas doesn’t stop touching him. Instead, Cas’ lips find the abused skin and he rains soft kisses onto the welts his hands left behind. It’s insanely soothing. Cas knows exactly how to touch him.

“Remarkable.” The tender ministrations of Cas’ hands and the soft tone of his voice sooth Dean, make him feel loved and wanted and content. “I knew you could handle it,” He continues, and Dean feels a swell of pride. He did well. He did what Cas asked of him. Dean’s entire body is alive with electric current, desire and pain warring for top billing. He blushes under the praise, though it’s exactly what he expected Cas to say, and the heat that rises on his face is a perfect match for the heat he feels on the sore flesh of his ass, although the warmth is from a rush of blood rather than the pain of ten solid, open palmed slaps. “We could stop here,” Cas says, his tone gentle and concerned. Even when he’s taking Dean apart, he’s mindful of not going so far that he can’t be put back together. “Or we could…” Cas trails off as he slides his hand under the red satin and the pad of his thumb nudges between Dean’s cheeks, grazes gently against the pink pucker of his entrance. Dean would scream assent at the top of his lungs if he was allowed. He’d beg for it. He knows how much Cas likes that. Dean’s hips push backwards just a little, turning the gentle graze of Cas’ thumb into an insistent pressure against his hole. Cas laughs, deep and throaty.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Cas tells him, and Dean nods. He turns just enough to peer over his shoulder, lets Cas see the flush on his cheeks, the hungry way his mouth hangs open, the heavy lids of his eyes, which are blown nearly black. Cas stares back at him with an almost mirror image of those traits, only the thin bright line around his wide pupils is sapphire blue instead of emerald green, and his mouth is a confident smirk. It makes something twist deep inside Dean’s chest, something he knows he should think about and deal with, because when he looks at Cas like this all he can think is _Mine, Mine, Mine._ That’s a problem for the Dean of tomorrow, however. The Dean of today doesn’t have to do anything except take what he’s given.

Castiel choses this moment to undress himself. He removes his remaining garments quickly. It’s not the sultry, teasing show that Dean made of it, not designed to draw out the experience or tantalize Dean with thoughts of what he’s revealing. It’s utilitarian, slender fingers on buttons and zippers, soft fabric revealing hard muscle, quick and efficient and almost, _almost_ a little desperate, thought Dean will never say so and Cas will never admit it. He climbs back on to the bed and runs his hands softly over Dean’s red flanks. His right hand wanders over Dean’s hip, slides underneath to tug at the tail of the crushed bow. Cas pulls on it slowly, unravelling Dean’s reserve as well as the bow that’s holding the tiny garment together. Dean’s cock springs free as soon as the bow is loosed, hanging heavy between his legs as Cas’ hand makes its way back up to push aside the shiny satin. He lays soft kisses to the still-red flesh of Dean’s ass as he flips open the cap on the bottle of lube, the bottle Dean forgot about for a very long time as Cas took him out of his head and broke him down with ten well-placed blows. He remembers it now as a slick finger presses to his entrance, his body responding to the intrusion with tension, then relaxation.

Each stroke of Cas’ finger breaks him down further. Dean’s body knows Cas, welcomes him once it recognizes the act, slowly but surely opening up to allow him to take more and more and more. Dean loves it, craves it. He loves the burn when Cas works a second finger in, stretching him open and forcing all his attention onto the single point of contact. He loves the heat that pools in his belly as Cas twists and scissors his fingers, brushing casually against his prostate. He loves the way Cas’ breath catches in his throat when he adds a third finger and Dean bucks back against his hand, fucking himself on Cas’ fingers because he can’t use his words to tell Cas how much he needs this, wants this. Cas slips his fingers out gently, wipes them on his discarded shirt, and Dean wiggles his hips, waiting for Cas to fill him up.

Instead, he gets Cas’ hands on his hips, guiding him forward to lie on the mattress, sprawled out flat with Cas kneeling beside his thighs. He uses hands, not words, to roll Dean on to his back, lifting his legs up to rest on Cas’ shoulders. He stares at Dean like he’s a work of art, like he’s some constellation of stars pieced together just for Cas to appreciate. Dean wants to shrink under that reverent gaze, but he knows that Cas will command him to open his eyes and he knows he won’t be able to disobey, so he keeps his eyes locked on Cas’ as he buries himself in Dean’s tight, slick hole and his mouth falls open in silent prayer. It feels like an eternity before Cas bottoms out, his thighs pressed against the heat of Dean’s welted ass and he flinches just a little at the contact. He’s going to feel it with every thrust. Cas is going to make sure of it. Dean can tell.

“Remember, Dean,” Cas breathes, his voice airy and worshipful, “Silence. Absolute silence. I want you quiet, and I want your eyes on me.” Dean nods acknowledgement, barely able to focus on the words coming out of Cas’ mouth. He’s so full, so gloriously full, and he’d agree to anything right now if it meant Cas would stop talking and start fucking him. “But when you come for me, I want you screaming my name.” Castiel’s voice is dark and commanding as he speaks the words, and he pauses only long enough to watch Dean’s eyes widen in response before he pulls out almost all the way, just the head of his cock still nestled in the tight heat of Dean’s ass, and snaps his hips forward.

Dean doesn’t think he’s going to make it. There’s no way he can survive the brutal pace Cas is setting, the raw, desperate way Cas fucks him, without making a sound. He’s going to break the rules, and Cas is going to stop, because he said he would stop if Dean can’t keep quiet. He bites his lip to keep the noises in, the filthy moans he wants to pour out, and the string of profanity he would usually be mumbling. Dean’s eyes are open and locked on Cas, so he cannot help but notice the way Cas’ face lights up at the sight.

“Do you have any idea,” Cas growls, his fingers biting into the flesh of Dean’s thighs as he drives his hips forward, “how beautiful you are?” Dean shakes his head without meaning to, and Cas huffs something akin to laughter. The sweat beading on his forehead gives his face an otherworldly sheen, makes him look perfect and dangerous and Dean wants nothing more than to kiss that face with all the passion he has in him. “You are,” Cas replies. He lets go of one of Dean’s thighs and works his hand between them, pushing the forgotten panties aside to caress Dean’s cock, his fingers deft and firm as they circle his shaft. Dean rocks his hips up sharply, his hands tangling in the sheets because he can’t reach Cas to grab on to him so the sheets will have to do. Cas sets just as vicious a pace with his hand as he does with his hips and Dean bites his lip harder, hoping through sheer force of will to keep in the sounds that he’s been forbidden to release. He thinks he tastes blood, but he’s so wrapped up in the feel of Cas tugging roughly at his cock and fucking him into the mattress that he doesn’t really know for sure and can’t be bothered to care.

Finally, it’s too much. The searing pain of Cas’ hips bucking against the inferno left on his skin by the spanking, the pleasure of Cas’ hand, warm and slick and perfect as it strokes his cock, the mind numbing bliss of Cas’ dick slamming in to his ass, brushing against his sweet spot now and again. It takes over his brain and he’s coming, hard and fast before he even has a chance to see it looming.

“Castiel!” Dean cries, the word ripped from his throat though he barely has the presence of mind to recall that he promised. He spills over Cas’ hand and on to his own belly. Dean’s entire body twitches rapturously, his throat raw and sore from the force with which he’s hollered Cas’ name. He thinks he might still be screaming as Cas fucks him through his orgasm, but his ears are full of his own heartbeat and he can’t be sure.

Cas’ face is pure delight. He drinks in each minute detail of Dean’s climax, from the way his body tenses around his cock to the perfect set of his mouth as it falls open and lets loose the only word he’s been permitted. Watching Dean fall apart spurs him on and Cas redoubles his efforts, his thrusts growing rougher and more merciless, his hands now both gripping Dean’s thighs with bruising force as his own orgasm approaches. His hips crash into Dean’s once, twice more and Dean is sure Cas must be howling because his mouth hangs open and his eyes flutter shut and his head tips back, but the aftershocks are still ringing in Dean’s ears and he can’t hear anything at all.

Cas collapses beside him a moment later. Dean barely has the strength to move but he lifts a hand draw Cas’ face to his own and kisses him tenderly on the lips, careless of the sheen of sweat coating both of them or the come drying on his abdomen or the ache in his muscles or the sting of the abused skin on his rear. Cas lets Dean kiss him hungrily for a moment, and then lifts himself up to retrieve a wet cloth from the bathroom. He cleans them both up, taking his time and using careful hands to show Dean how loved he is, how wonderful and perfect he is in Cas’ eyes. He leans in to press his lips to Dean’s forehead. Dean doesn’t resist; he just sinks into the mattress and revels in the attention that Cas lavishes on him when they do this. Cas’ lips fall on his cheeks, and his eyelids slide close to allow gentle kisses to land there too. Cas rains countless kisses on his face, his shoulders, down his arms and right to the end of his fingertips. He drags the red panties off of Dean’s other leg, discarding the garment on the floor before tucking them both under the blankets and pulling Dean close to nuzzle into the heat of his body.  

“You were wonderful,” Cas says, his voice reverent and honest. He drags a thumb across Dean’s parted lips, smiles fondly as he watches Dean kiss the digit and then let loose a jaw-splitting yawn. “Perfect, even.” Dean blushes and averts his eyes, but Cas nudges his chin up and forces their eyes to meet. “I mean it. You’re the best Christmas present I could have asked for.” Dean smiles and snuggles against Cas, his body spread out in such a way as to allow for the most possible points of contact.

Dean’s almost asleep when Cas speaks again.

“I could heal you,” he offers blithely, and his fingers drag slow, lazy patterns across Dean’s shoulders. Dean tilts his head back a little to catch Cas’ eye. “You’re going to be quite sore in the morning.”

“No,” he replies. “Don’t heal me. If you take away the handprints it’s like this never happened.” Cas returns a smile that is soft and knowing.

“Very well,” is all Cas says. He lays a soft kiss on Dean’s lips, humming contentedly against his mouth before laying back against the lumpy pillows and closing his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean mumbles, voice heavy with exhaustion though it’s still incredibly early in the evening. Cas lets him fall asleep anyway. There will be plenty of time for conversation in the morning.


End file.
